


Celebrating

by ladyoneill



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Male Slash, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Philadelphia is theirs.  The Monroe Republic has formed.  Bass is in charge and they can finally take the time to rest.  He finds he's missed a certain aspect of his relationship with Miles.</p>
<p>So has Miles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebrating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vampireisthenewblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampireisthenewblack/gifts).



> The sex is not graphic. There are discussions of homophobia as well as them being with women and a possible future marriage for Bass as President. I cannot believe this pairing is NOT in the AO3 listings. This was fun to write. I'm sorry it's not longer! They were fun to explore, though, especially Bass--it's from his POV.

Philadelphia is secure at last. Ten miles outside the city in any direction is still chaotic, but his army is making slow but steady progress at securing his country.

His country. The Monroe Republic. Four years since the blackout and he has his own country.

His ego is stoked and stroked. His men bear the mark he and Miles designed as kids. They're no longer the unruly, rag-tagged bunch they first recruited to try to bring peace and stability to at least one part of the former United States. Now they have uniforms and well-maintained weapons.

Standing at the floor to ceiling windows of his private office, Sebastian Monroe sips twelve year old single malt whisky and surveys his kingdom.

He feels damn good.

The door behind him opens. As only one person would enter without knocking--and only a handful would enter this private sanctuary at all--he doesn't turn. There's a clink of crystal on crystal and then a masculine noise of appreciation that goes straight to his groin.

Bass can admit he's a bit drunk, but he also aroused. There were times in the past that they'd come together. Celebrations after surviving vicious battles, desperate groping after escaping traps.

They also did it in those first desperate months of trying to find their families and enough food and potable water to stay alive, out of sheer loneliness and stark fear.

While they never talked about it, Miles was and still is the only man he's been with. He suspects he's the same for his best friend. The first few times were fumbling encounters driven by despair. They discovered that kissing each other wasn't all that different from kissing women, that hand jobs felt the same given by men. The first time they tried oral sex it was sloppy and something he, at least, had to get used to doing. Sex itself was...weird, but eventually enjoyable.

If Bass gave gay sex any thought before the blackout, it was passing only, never serious. The military no longer had 'don't ask, don't tell', but it still was looked down upon to be gay. Bisexual was out of the question. The attitude was, if you liked women, why even go for men? And Bass did like women. He still does. How they smell, the softness of their skin, the wet warmth between their thighs.

He knows he only has to put out a request to his assistant and he'll have a woman or two here within the hour.

But, tonight, that's not what he wants. He wants Miles, his mouth on his cock, his hard thighs between his own, his thick yet agile fingers playing him like a fiddle.

Back then, before the world went askew, he loved Miles, but as a brother, best friend. Oddly enough, though, the adjustment to lover wasn't difficult. His world view didn't shift dramatically. Miles just slotted into a new role in his life.

Often he wonders if it was the same for Miles or if he struggled. From his attentiveness to Bass' needs, his eagerness in bed, Bass could never tell.

Yet, as the desperation faded and the wins started piling up, as they were rarely in danger, they stopped. There were always women, both the grateful and the conquered, and, as they became more and more important and it became obvious they would be rulers of the new world they were creating, there were appearances to be kept.

Safe in his private space, though, Bass is ready to say 'fuck that'.

"We did it," Miles murmurs as he comes up to his side. "We have control. We can bring peace."

Through conquering. Bass has no problem with that.

"You don't mind me being president and you being in command of the militia?"

"I don't want that responsibility. You're much more popular. All that charisma."

Bass grins at his best friend. "You're just a brute."

Miles snorts. "Sometimes you have to instill fear. Speaking of, we're going to need to start conscripting. As people settle down, communities form, there's going to no longer be a desperate need to fight to survive. Fewer recruits."

"And with the other nations forming, yeah, I agree. We need a large standing militia to protect our borders, especially as they expand. You can handle it?"

"With the right men. Definitely Baker. Neville's showing me things. He can be vicious, but has potential, and the man is a tactical genius. Never would have guessed he sold insurance before all this."

"I've been thinking about a promotion for him, out of the ranks to lieutenant." At Miles' nod of approval, he asks, "Strausser?"

Miles shudders and shakes his head. "A bit of brutality and ruthlessness is needed, but not the amount that psycho brings."

"He's an excellent soldier," Bass counters, finishing his whisky as he watches the dislike and distaste cross Miles' usually stoic face.

"He's a stone cold killer. No, you keep him on the leash you have him on, let him loose on special projects. I'll build the militia."

"Fine." Conceding is easy. He has plans for Strausser. He just needed to see Miles' reaction. And he wonders if it says something about his own sociopathic tendencies, that Strausser's love of killing doesn't bother him one bit.

"You know, I didn't come in here for a planning session."

As Miles speaks, he moves over to a couch, dropping onto it in a lazy sprawl, the nearly empty glass dangling from his hand. Turning, Monroe lets his eyes drift over the muscular body of his best friend, the one person left in the world he truly loves. Miles' jacket is off, his shirt is open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up. The trousers of his uniform mold enticingly to his thighs and fit snuggly over his groin.

At the memory of what hides behind that fine wool, Bass feels his cock twitch. During the month long battle for Philadelphia, he hadn't gotten laid, hadn't even had time or energy to jerk off. With peace brings time, rest, and the return of too long bottled lust.

Miles smirks, drapes his free hand over his groin, just touching himself, and it flusters Bass. So, he's not the only one wanting to celebrate.

"You just going to stand there?"

"You're awfully pushy." He has to be in charge, be the one seemingly to make the decision, even though chances are, later tonight, he'll be the one on his hands and knees with Miles' dick inside him. Another thing that no one can ever know about, not that Bass is embarrassed that he prefers to be fucked over doing the fucking. It's just...appearances again.

"You've never minded." The smirk on Miles' face widens and his hand moves. The bulge in the crotch of his trousers grows and leaves Bass dry-mouthed.

Licking his lips and setting down his empty glass, he strolls towards the couch. "I am the president, after all. I'm supposed to in charge."

Snorting, Miles reaches out and snags him by the belt, then leans forward and nuzzles his stomach. "Yeah, but we are still equals here in this room, in this way, Bass."

"Never said we weren't," he chokes out and is rewarded with Miles' tongue pressing against his hardening cock through too thin and too tight layers of cloth.

*****

Bass awakens to sunlight streaming across the bed. He's warm and comfortable, and there's a strong arm around his waist and a prickly cheek pressed to his shoulder. Blinking in the light, he sighs softly and stretches carefully, not wanting to wake his lover.

Nearly a year and they fell right back into old familiar roles, knowledge of where to touch to wring gasps of pleasure, how to kiss to arouse, returning so easily.

Although he's pretty sure this is the first time they had a real bed.

It's definitely the first time he awakened to Miles still in his arms. Even in those early days, they slept apart, or, more often, one kept guard. Once they hooked up with others, there were certain proprieties to be kept. Their sexual encounters were hidden, hurried, often not at night at all. But...now...

No one is going to dare to ask where or with whom either he or Miles spend their nights.

While Bass loves even this bit of freedom he feels, he knows the reality they face. He's the president of a still unstable country. There are still way too many homophobic assholes around, many of them in his militia. He cannot lose any respect because he likes dick. He can't risk that.

"You're thinking is waking me up," Miles mutters, rubbing his cheek against Bass' shoulder and placing a kiss there, before snuggling tighter.

"We have to be careful." Bass keeps his voice even, firm, but he's not happy about making Miles some dirty little secret.

"You think I don't know that? I know my men better than you. Our positions are still precarious, and, as president, you're going to be expected to marry and start repopulating."

Making a face, Miles flops over onto his back and Bass is the one now to turn into him, curling around him. "I've missed you, being with you." Only with Miles can he be this vulnerable.

"Me, too." An arm snakes around Bass' shoulders, pulls him in closer.

"When I do marry, will we still do this?" Unable to meet Miles' eyes, he holds his breath as he waits for his reply.

"If you want."

Closing his eyes for a moment at the seemingly uncaring tone of voice, he lifts up to open them and stare down into Miles' expressive face. There is caring there, not hardness or emptiness. There's want. "If it could be any other way..."

"Yeah. Me, too." A sad smile forms on those firm lips, and, dipping his head, Bass kisses him softly.

"We'll make it work, Miles. We always do. Nothing can stop us."

"We've sure proved that," Miles agrees, smiling for real now, whatever sorrow he felt no longer showing in his eyes or on his face. Wrapping his arms around Bass' back and arching his hips into his, he asks, "How long before your first meeting?"

"An hour or so. Enough time." Bass grins and kicks the blankets down to straddle his lover. Time enough to make them both put aside what they can't have and accept what they can and do.

"You'll be walking funny."

The grin deepens. "I'll manage."

He'll manage it all. The world, even if it is smaller than it used to be, will be his, just as Miles will always be.

End


End file.
